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BOOTS ON THE GROUND BY DUSK: MY TRIBUTE TO PAT TILLMAN

Chapter 8

Those we have held in our arms for a little while, we hold in our hearts forever.
-- ANONYMOUS

Mike and I return to my house from the airport. He relaxes for a while and then heads home to Fremont. After I unpack, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit on the front stoop. The sun is shining through the leaves of the surrounding trees, illuminating their many shades of green. The sky is clear and the air is warm and pleasant. It's a beautiful June afternoon, so much like the day, nearly two months ago, when I learned Pat was never coming home.

Thursday, April 22, I had been at school early, around five thirty a.m. I had a parent meeting scheduled for seven thirty, and I wanted to make sure my lessons for the day were organized in case the meeting went longer than expected. I remember walking from the office back to my classroom looking at the mountains and thinking, "What a gorgeous and peaceful day."

At two forty-five I had another parent meeting. It ended about four. I walked across the street to my car feeling vaguely light-headed, but the sensation passed. When I pulled into the driveway and saw Peggy sitting on her porch, I sat and chatted with her for about fifteen minutes and then walked to my house. As I went through the front door, I was immediately conscious of how tired I felt, as if all energy had left my body, much like air being released from a balloon.

I started to walk toward my bedroom so I could change into more comfortable clothes when I noticed a message on my answering machine. It had been left about an hour earlier, at three thirty. It was from Richard. He sounded agitated and said he needed to talk. I dialed his number right away, but he didn't answer. I took the phone off the cradle and carried it with me to my room while I changed. I had every intention of sitting down and grading some vocabulary tests, but I felt so exhausted that I got into bed and pulled up the covers, clutching the phone in my hand.

Before I fell asleep, I remember wondering why I was so drained. It wasn't like me. I must have been asleep for a couple of hours when the phone rang. I looked to see if it was Richard, but it wasn't; it was my mom. Because I felt so tired, I let the call go to my message machine and laid my head down again, but after a few minutes, since I was awake, I called her back. She told me Alex, Pat's brother-in-law, had the operator interrupt her phone conversation with my aunt. She said he was looking for Mike. I still felt disoriented and wasn't sure I was processing what she was saying to me.

"What do you mean he interrupted a phone call?" I asked, my voice groggy.

"An emergency interruption -- you know, Dan -- by the operator. Alex said he needed to talk to Mike. He sounded weird. I asked him if Pat and Kevin were all right."

My chest froze. "Of course they're all right, Mom," I said curtly. But something didn't feel right. I was suddenly queasy as I got quickly out of bed.

"Alex left a number, Dannie," Mom said.

I hurriedly jotted it down. "That sounds like Alex's number, Mom. Thank you. I'll call him now. I'll talk to you soon."

My heart was racing as I hung up. I walked to the front room and looked quickly at my address book to make sure the number Mom gave me belonged to Alex. I dialed it nervously, my stomach turning. Alex answered right away.

"Hello."

"Hi, Alex," I said trying to sound calm. "My mom said you called her ... "

"Dannie," he said abruptly, "call Marie at home." He hung up.

Fear churned my insides. I started pacing the floor, trying to talk myself out of thinking the worst. It disturbed me that Alex told me to call Marie at home. It was a little before seven p.m. Marie was rarely home before seven thirty or eight. I paced the floor for several minutes. Finally, I dialed Marie and Pat's home number.

Marie answered. "Hello."

I was so relieved. Her voice sounded like it always did. Instantly, I relaxed.

"Hi, Marie. It's Dannie. Alex said to call you. What's up?"

There was no response.

"Marie," I said softly, "what is it? Is something wrong?"

No response.

Desperate fear gripped me, and I felt I was engulfed in a haze.

"Marie! What is it?! What's wrong?!"

"He's dead," she said numbly.

"Dead! Who's dead?!" I screamed.

"Pat's dead."

I felt as if a giant fist plunged into my stomach and hollowed me out, producing a sound I had never heard before; it was guttural, primitive, the sound of an animal. Holding the phone out in front of me, I rushed out my front door, running away from the words. I screamed for Peggy as I stumbled across my yard, falling out of my shoes. At some point my legs gave way and I began to fall. Everything around me was a blur, but I was faintly aware of a figure dropping in front of me to grab me as I went down.

"My baby! My baby! My baby's dead! Oh, my God! Pat's dead!"

Through tear-filled eyes and a fog of shock and disbelief, I realized Syd was holding me. Peggy walked up behind him, and I handed her the phone.

Someone in the distance, from a neighboring house, was yelling, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

My body heaved as I cried on Syd's shoulder.

"It's okay," he said gently through his own tears. "Let it out. Cry. Let it out."

From the corner of my eye, I  saw Peggy standing in my driveway talking on the phone. She was crying, and she looked as though her knees were going to buckle. It struck me that I must get hold of myself. Marie needs me to be strong. Kevin and Richard need me to be strong. Kevin! Where is Kevin?

With Syd's help, I pulled myself up. Peggy ended the call with Marie. She walked over to me, grief distorting her face. I looked at her questioningly and asked, "Kevin?" Peggy said Marie hadn't heard from him yet. She was still waiting.

I was crying again. Peggy was holding me close when we heard the sound of a car coming up the driveway. It was Alex. He must have left his house the minute I got off the phone with him. He looked pale, and his eyes were red-rimmed. He leaned over and hugged me and apologized for the abrupt way he had gotten off the phone. At that moment, we heard another car slowly approaching. It parked between the Melbournes' house and mine. A young female soldier, looking confused and flustered, got out of the car. Syd and Alex held me steady as I waited for her to put on her dress jacket. She was visibly nervous and fumbled getting it on. Finally, she approached me, her soft, black eyes reflecting compassion and discomfort.

In the doorway, the soldier spoke hesitantly.

"Ma'am," she said solemnly, "I'm sorry to inform you ... "

"It's all right," I said listlessly through a cloud of tears. "I already know." I turned slowly and walked across the yard, picking up my shoes before walking through the door. Alex, Peggy, Syd, and the young soldier walked respectfully behind me.

Once in the doorway, the soldier spoke hesitantly, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, it is my obligation to inform you officially."

I turned to face her, and both of us choked back tears as she fulfilled her duty. She told me Pat was shot in the head getting out of a vehicle. She said he died an hour later in a field hospital. "Did he suffer?" I asked, afraid of what I would hear. The young woman looked at me stunned, not sure what to say.

"He didn't suffer, Dannie," Alex said gently, in an effort to comfort me and aid the young soldier. "He was shot in the head. He wouldn't have been aware of anything."

"Where is Kevin?" I asked as I broke down crying again. "Is Kevin all right?"

She told me Kevin was safe and that he was with his brother when he was killed. I looked at Peggy and saw the horror on her face. I could feel my face contort at the thought of Kevin seeing his brother killed.

"When can I talk to Kevin? Where is he?" I pleaded gently.

The young soldier looked at me helplessly. "I don't know," she replied.

"Dannie," Alex said, tenderly touching my shoulder, "all she has is a casualty report. She doesn't have much information about anything else."

"Pat's dad has to be told," I said to the soldier. "Has he been told yet?"

"No, I  don't think so. We have had trouble finding him," she said.

My eyes scan Alex, Peggy, and Syd. "I have to call Patrick."

I walked unsteadily to the phone and dialed Patrick's cell number. He answered quickly.

"Hello." I could tell by his voice he knew nothing.

"Patrick," I said firmly.

"Dan," he said in his usual ironic tone.

"Patrick." I hesitated. "Patrick, Pat's dead. He has been shot in the head."

I was trying to tell him without getting hysterical, but as the words left my mouth they sounded so abrupt, so stunning. I thought I could feel Patrick's shock, and I wanted to take the words back and tell him differently. I should have just asked him to come over, but that would have made him suspicious. He would have forced me to tell him anyway. To my bewilderment, he responded as though I were delusional.

"What? Where did you hear that?" he asked calmly. I tried to tell him when he cut me off. "Dan, I'll be right over."

I hung up, and I looked up at Alex through swollen eyes. "He's coming over right away."

"Is he all right?" Alex asked.

"Yes," I said. "I don't think he believes me."

I sat on the couch with the soldier and Alex while Peggy and Syd went to their house to call my brother and closest friends. I told Alex I was worried about Richard. He was in Los Angeles. There was no way I could give him this news over the phone. I told Alex about Richard's phone message and how he sounded distressed.

"When did he leave the message?" Alex asked.

"At three thirty."

"Well, he couldn't have known then, but it concerns me that this will be on the wire soon."

"I know," I said, staring ahead dazed, terrified of how Richard would be affected by his brother's death. He had been so distraught when Pat and Kevin enlisted, although he had tried so hard over the course of their service to think positively and be supportive. Tears streamed down my face again. The first Christmas after Pat and Kevin enlisted, Kevin had presented Richard with a journal he'd kept of their experiences in boot camp. Pat had written the foreword, and then Kevin had filled the black, feather-bound book with narrative, descriptions, illustrations, and commentary. The journal was so heartfelt and so full of acknowledgments to the people in Kevin's life who meant the most to him that for a while I'd felt a frightening sense of foreboding for him.

Alex and I finished our conversation as the young soldier next to us listened helplessly. After about twenty minutes, Patrick came up the driveway. Alex stood and watched from the window as he walked toward the house. I could see he was perplexed by the cars outside, but I also could tell he hadn't believed what I told him. However, when he entered the house and saw the soldier sitting with me on the couch, his eyes turned wild with horror and shock. Alex and the soldier left the house so we could be alone. Patrick fell to his knees in front of me, crying loudly at first, then softly into my lap. It broke my heart to see his pain. I gently stroked his head, but I was so numb, I had no words of comfort.

After long minutes, Patrick raised his head and gradually composed himself. The soldier came back in with Alex and told Pat's dad what she had told me. He, too, was worried about Kevin and wanted to know where he was and when we could talk to him. Alex explained that no one was sure when we would hear from Kevin, but he assured him Kevin was all right -- physically, anyway.

I told Patrick about Richard's message, and he wondered if our son already knew when he made the phone call. I told him I didn't think he did -- his voice sounded agitated, not frantic or hysterical -- and I didn't want him to be told over the phone or hear about it from the news.

"Now that Marie and you and I know, this is going to go public very soon," Patrick said. "I'm going to fly down there now to tell him. We won't get a flight out of LA because it will be too late, but I'll bring him home as soon as I can."

"Thank you," I said, unable to adequately express my gratitude. "Will you be all right? You're in shock and you're tired."

''I'll be fine," he said. "I just hope I get to Richard in time."

"Be careful," I said, not even wanting to consider he would get to Richard too late. I gave Patrick a hug and watched him get into his car and back out the driveway. I will be forever grateful for his act of love for Richard, and for Pat.

It occurred to me to call Richard's friend Michelle. I would tell her about Pat's death and ask her to try to keep Richard away from the television and computer until his dad arrived. I called her cell several times, but she didn't answer; finally, I left a message asking her to call me back.

I don't recall seeing the soldier leave. She must have driven away when I was talking to Patrick about Richard. What a sobering and difficult job for someone so young. I was certain Alex had seen her off and had expressed gratitude on my behalf.

Alex told me Peggy and Syd were having a difficult time reaching Mike. He wasn't answering his cell phone, and they were having trouble getting connected to his department at United Airlines. Alex went next door to see if he could help.

My face was numb from crying. I walked around the house in a stupor for several minutes, not knowing what to do. I suddenly realized I had to tell my mom. How could I tell her that her grandson was dead? I feared telling her over the phone, but I didn't know what else to do. I picked up the phone and dialed; I got the answering machine. I waited about five minutes, then tried again. This time she picked up, but her voice was barely audible.

"Mom," I said, trying not to cry.

"Dannie, what's going on? Did you reach Alex? Is everything all right?"

"Mom," I said, my voice shaking.

"What's wrong, Dannie?" she asked uneasily.

"Pat's been killed, Mom."

"Oh, God!" she gasped. "Dannie, I had a feeling that's why Alex called. I had a feeling."

"Mom, are you all right?"

"Oh, Dannie. My God, our Pat!"

"I know, Mom," I  said, holding back sobs. "Mom, I'll make sure someone picks you up and brings you to my house as soon as I can arrange it. Peggy is trying to reach Mike right now, and he will probably come straight to my house. Can you have a neighbor come sit with you until I can send someone to get you?"

"Yes, I'll call Jerry and Ron across the street," she said anxiously.

"All right. Mom, I'm sorry to tell you over the phone, but I don't know when this will be on the news. I would hate for you to learn that way."

''I'm fine, Dannie. I'll call Jerry and Ron right now."

As I hung up the phone, Alex ran in from Peggy and Syd's.

"Dannie," he said, "Peggy reached the right department at United, but the person who answered said they have no Mike Spalding working there."

I looked at Alex, perplexed. "Mike has worked there for more than ten years ... Oh, wait. Mike goes by Stephen at work. Have her ask for Stephen Spalding."

Alex turned and ran next door. As I stood in the doorway staring dully at the sky, I realized I would have to call work to let my principal know what happened. As I searched my list of faculty phone numbers, I thought about how supportive he had been since Pat and Kevin enlisted. I had worked with Don McCloskey for nearly two years. Before he entered education, he had been in the Air Force and served during the first Gulf War. When Pat and Kevin joined the Army, a friend and coworker, Marsha Walker, already had a son in the Marines. Don's time in the military gave him great empathy for what we were going through. After Pat and Kevin were deployed to Iraq, Don would occasionally walk down to my classroom to chat, ask about them, and see how I was doing. I dialed Don's home number, but the answering machine picked up. Not wanting to leave a message, I decided to call Marsha and ask her to try to contact Don. It was painful to tell her about Pat's death. She was stunned and so saddened. She told me she would make certain Don was told.

Alex returned to tell me that Peggy talked to Mike; he was on his way. Mike has always been devoted to his nephews. The news of Pat and Kevin's decision to enlist troubled him deeply, and he worried about Richard in their absence. He had confided in me just days earlier that he was very distressed that he didn't get to say good-bye to the boys before they left for Afghanistan. He thought he would have time to call them, but then he learned they had already been deployed. I remember he said, "I'll just have to stop feeling bad about not talking to them. I'll have to put that out of my mind and think positive thoughts about them coming back and telling stories about what they saw and did." What must be going through Mike's mind now?

Meanwhile, Alex began intercepting phone calls from friends, family, reporters, and the military. He tried to keep them short. We wanted to keep the line open; Kevin might try to call from Afghanistan.

I heard a car come up the driveway. I looked out the opened door and saw my friend Sherri Greer. I  had been holding myself together fairly well, but when I saw Sherri, I  broke down in her arms. Sherri had been my assistant -- an indispensable one -- during my first year of teaching at Bret Harte. The following year, she ended up getting a different job at Leland High School, but we remained close. Once Sherri and I stopped crying, we went into the family room. Sherri stayed with me while I sat, exhausted and silent, waiting for Mike.

From the couch, I could hear the sound of Mike's truck coming up the driveway, and I saw the headlights as he pulled in behind Alex's car. I saw his shadowy form walk rapidly across the lawn, and I heard him as he stepped through the front door. Through leaden eyelids and swollen eyes, I  watched him as he walked toward me, his arms open.

"Pat's dead, Mike," I cried quietly.

"I know," he said as he held me tight.

Mike held me quietly for a few minutes, then he sat down and I explained what happened. I told him that Pat was shot in the head and died in a field hospital an hour later. Mike clenched his jaw, and moisture clouded his green eyes. I told him we didn't know where Kevin was; we only knew he was safe. I told him Kevin was with Pat when he was killed. Mike stared solemnly at the floor. After a moment, he asked where Patrick was, and I told him he had gone to Los Angeles to tell Richard. Again, I related Richard's message to me earlier in the day. Mike looked at me soberly and said, "I hope he can get there in time. I  hate to think of Rich learning this on the news."

I stared vacantly out the window, not wanting to think about it. Mike told me that he called our mom on his way to my house. She told him Patrick's mother called, and one of Patrick's brothers was picking her up to take her to my mother-in-law's house; Patrick had called his mother and told her what had happened. I was so relieved to know that Mom was not going to be alone in her house.

The phone had been ringing almost continuously for three or four hours. Each time it rang, I hoped it was Kevin. A call came in at about nine p.m. Alex walked to the step leading to the family room holding the ringing phone. He scanned the caller ID, then he looked at me, eyes filled with dread. "It's Richard."

"Oh, no!" I gasped. "I can't talk to him. He'll know something's wrong." I looked to Mike.

I could see the tension in Mike's jaw as he took the phone from Alex.

"Hello," Mike said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Hello," I heard Richard respond loudly. "Who's this? Is that you, Uncle Mike?"

Mike looked me in the eye and mouthed, "He's been drinking."

I watched Mike's expression, looking for a sign that would tell what Richard knew. Mike listened for a few seconds and shook his head to indicate Richard didn't know anything. I  was so relieved. It concerned me that Richard had been drinking, but under the circumstances, it was probably good. I continued to listen to Mike's end of the conversation. I could tell Richard was puzzled as to why Mike was at my house and not at work. Mike told him he took the whole day off to repair shingles for me. Richard was aware that I had been having trouble with my roof during the spring rains, so he accepted that story, but he didn't understand why I wasn't home. Mike told him I had gone to the store, but Richard thought it was odd that I was at the store so late.

"Well," Mike said, "I've been slaving on the roof all day, and I'm hungry. Your mom didn't have any food in the house, so I think she went to Safeway. It's open twenty-four hours."

Richard didn't question that explanation. He and Mike talked a little longer, then Mike hung up. I could see he was devastated about lying to Richard, and I felt horrible for placing him in that position, but I didn't know what else to do. By this time, several of Pat's closest friends, Tony Doran and Jason Haase, arrived to give support. All of us sat vigil by the phone, waiting to hear from Kevin and hoping to learn that Patrick had gotten to Richard in time.

Richard's friend Michelle called after ten p.m. I told her gently that Pat had been killed. It took her long seconds to speak. She had never met Pat or Kevin, but she did get to speak to them on the phone before they were deployed. Michelle knew how close the three of them had always been, and I could sense her compassion and concern for Richard. She told me she would go to his apartment right away.

The phone rang again within minutes; it was Patrick. He said he'd been waiting at Richard's apartment when Richard and his roommate, Eric, had arrived a half hour earlier. He said he had rented a car, and they would soon leave for home. I spoke to Richard for a few seconds. He was in shock, and the pain in his voice devastated me. There was nothing I could do but remind him that I loved him. The phone was still in my hand when Michelle called to ask if it would be intruding for her to fly here the next day. I told her I welcomed her and that I believed Richard would benefit from her presence.

We were all relieved and grateful that Richard and Patrick were on their way home. Sherri sat quietly by my side on the couch while I clutched a framed picture of Pat and Marie to my chest. I stared dully out of the window. It was very dark, but the glow from the porch provided enough light that I could see Alex, Tony, Jason, Mike, and several other figures as they stood talking in the shadows of the yard. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the hum of their voices put me into a trance. I shuddered when the phone, silent for more than an hour, started to ring again. I don't remember who answered it; I just remember someone called to me gently, "Dannie, it's Kevin."

My chest froze. I had to remind myself to breathe. I placed the photograph on the table and quickly got up. I could feel blood rushing to my arms and legs and my heart pounding. Trembling, I took the phone.

"Kevin!" I said, my voice shaking.

"Mom! Mom!" Kevin said, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Tears pooled in my eyes, then spilled down my cheeks as I heard the raw pain in his voice. "Kevin, it's not your fault," I said gently.

"Mom, I haven't left Pat's side since we got here to the hospital."

My whole being ached for Kevin, and my body wanted to convulse into sobs. It was clear his thoughts and emotions were in chaos; shock held him together and allowed him to speak. I willed myself not to break down. "I know, Kevin. I know you have been there for him. Who is there with you?"

"There are guys here with me, Mom. There are guys here with me. I am okay. I'm here with Till, Mom. I'm here with Till."

"I'm so grateful you're with Pat, Kevin," I said, my throat burning with anguish and worry. "When are you and Pat coming home?"

"I don't know, Mom. It's too dangerous to fly us out now."

I was seized with panic. "What do you mean, Kevin?" I wanted to scream and the tears poured faster.

"I don't know, Mom. That's what I've been told."

'Just get home as soon as you can," I said, my voice trembling. "I love you, Kevin."

"I love you too, Mom," he said, struggling for composure. "Are Rich and Dad all right?"

"Yes, Kevin. Dad flew to LA to tell Rich in person. They are on their way home." I looked over at my brother and saw the worry on his face. "Kevin, can you talk to Uncle Mike?"

"Yes, Mom -- for just a minute," he said.

"Good-bye, Kevin." I was terrified to let him go.

"Good-bye, Mom. I'll see you soon."

I handed the phone to Mike and sat in a chair while Mike spoke with Kevin. When the conversation ended, Mike placed the phone down and looked me straight in the eye and said firmly, "He'll be all right, Dannie."

I stood up, feeling emotionally and physically depleted. My head throbbed from loss of tears, and my eyes felt like swollen, burning slashes. I walked aimlessly down the hall to my bedroom and closed the door. I lay in bed conscious of the concerned and worried whispers of my brother and friends until, at some point, I fell into a tormented form of sleep.

The roosters crowed around four thirty a.m. I opened my dry eyes, and immediately my heart began to race. For an instant, I hoped I had been having a terrible nightmare, but reality quickly pushed away that hope. I got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to wash my face. I looked in the guest room to see if Richard had come home while I was asleep, but it was Mike who was under the covers. In the front of the house I found Sherri asleep on the living room couch; Tony and Jason were sleeping on the floor of the family room. Alex had gone home to be with his young family.

I quietly sat down on the chair. I heard the whine of an engine and looked out the window. A strange car pulled into the driveway. I walked outside and saw Patrick get out of the rental car. I could see Richard's face through the passenger window.

***

Now I look out at my front yard. Tears obscure the place where Patrick parked the rental car two months ago. In my mind's eye, I watch Richard slowly open the door and get out. His face is drawn, and his dark, almond-shaped eyes, so like his big brother's, are red and swollen. He looks tenderly down at me from his six-foot frame, holding his arms wide. In his hands are the journal Kevin had given him, a small double frame with pictures of his brothers, and the inscribed axe Pat presented him for being a best man at his wedding.

I slowly approach him as he envelops me in his arms and cries softly into my shoulder.

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